Zero the Jackal and the Infinite Madness
by That Hedgie Over There
Summary: In one of my most memorable episodes of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, I had an extremely controversial, high-profile hip hop figure make it into the Hot Seat. The next thirty minutes or so, wherein he embarked on his climb up the money tree, were unlike anything I'd ever seen before.


"Welcome back."

My words were the first to fill the sound waves in nearly a whole minute.

Back on the air following a short delay in taping, the studio around me seemed dead as a doornail. Normally the folks watching at home would find our audience in a forced state of applause, marked by a stage direction being flashed toward them, to signify that we were ready to resume the game. From what I could tell, the stage director for whatever reason neglected to call for this direction, instead signaling the "thumbs-up" toward me. On this cue, I took a deep breath and spoke.

"Well, where do I begin..." I paused before launching into the hidden script that had popped up on my podium, "he's the foremost rapper, I think, of our age, or any other music period, or whatever. He's the best-selling hip hop artist of all time, having earned an amazing total of fifty platinum album certifications across his twenty-plus year career. He's also won fifteen Gramophone Awards and even an Axel for Best Original Song... and he's found his way into the Hot Seat."

Before the aforementioned commercial break, this high-profile musical figure, a jackal coated in an unmistakably jet black fur, a long white mane flowing behind him, had won the Fastest Finger First round, beating eight other contestants by locking in the correct answer to a question less than a second faster than anyone else. He had spent the last four minutes sitting opposite me in the richest seat in Mazuri, and now, since the second I got the on-air cue, I noticed him locking a cold stare of death towards me, my matching blue eyes met by that partially scarred, heterochromatic gaze of his. It was at that moment that I knew... I better get this moving.

"Joining me now is none other than Infinite, hailing from Inglewood Park..." Ok, enough of me talking. "Is that true?"

"Indeed it is." I got a bit bug-eyed listening to that unnaturally deep voice of his. I hope he didn't catch that. "I've lived there most of my life, and I was fortunate enough to start my career there."

"No, that's where I'd reckon most musical artists get their start."

"I mean, that I didn't have to travel 3000K all the time," the highly street wise jackal clarified, the K of course referring to distance in kilometers.

I quickly changed the subject, only because my podium told me to: "What's your favorite sport?"

To which the jackal quickly shot back, "Football."

"Oh, thank gadolinium." I did a painfully obvious sigh of relief, now confident I wouldn't soon be hearing an earful about an equally prolific basketball club based in his hometown. At least now I was thinking about getting down to business. "What makes you think you can win a million dollars tonight?"

His near immediate response was, "I'm a walking dictionary."

"Does that ever get to be a burden for you?" I remarked, curious to see if I was the only one who had ever had such an experience with something along the lines of studying legions of useless general knowledge factoids.

"Overall, not really," he summed up. "Obviously I kinda need it when I'm writing lyrics. I mean, there's always gonna be some way to rhyme with something. Sometimes you have to bend the words. It's all in the enunciation. Like, people say that..."

This is going to be good.

"The word 'orange' doesn't rhyme with anything, and that kinda makes me sick, because I can think of a lot of things that rhyme with 'orange'."

"What rhymes with orange?" I inquired, suddenly curious to see Infinite in action.

His involuntary hand movements grew more apparent as he continued, "If you're taking the word at face value, nothing is gonna rhyme exactly. If you enunciate it, and you make it two syllables, then you could say something like..."

I felt my ears shooting straight up.

"I put my orange, four-inch door hinge in storage... and ate porridge with George."

The mention of the name George had me considering the prospect of this show's second, most recent big winner, inviting Infinite over for... breakfast. Ok, that's just silly.

"You just have to figure out the science to breaking down words."

"Nice," I shot simply, itching to change the subject again: "What would you do with the money if you win?"

"Put it all on black," Infinite snapped, pretending to fold his arms before releasing them again.

"Oh really? Why not on red?" I shot back. Who knew that the opposing colors of our furs were used on the roulette wheel!

"Anyway, I'm playing for charity," the jackal continued, "and I'm going to give the money to my charity, which is Literacy Through Songwriting."

"Fantastic," I concurred in a rather short tone. Truthfully, I would have preferred he had kept all that money. Especially a million dollars. After all, who could forget Maria the Hedgehog's run? With all the money she won, I would have expected her to pocket a fraction of it. But nope, she gave it all to the Mobian Wildlife Fund.

"Now let's get started. Fifteen questions, three new lifelines. You'll have fifteen seconds to answer each of the first five questions."

As long as I had hosted this show, even as I heavily contemplated canceling it from further production, I starkly recalled how different the format was when it started, when the contestant was given all the time they could ever need to answer each question. Now Infinite was under a bit of pressure to quickly make his decision on each of the first ten questions, but after that point the clock would go away and he would earn an exclusive fourth lifeline for the final five. I ensured that he already knew all of the rules of the game in advance, of course.

For perhaps the final time ever, I signaled for the beginning of the game like so: "Let's play Who Wants to Be a Millionaire." As the tension-inducing music sting played and some of the lights went down, not a single member of the audience said a word.

"The first question is for $100. Here it comes."

I read on as the question popped up on my screen, "Which word that rhymes with 'leak' is usually used as the opposite of 'strong'? Right, fifteen seconds, start the clock." I continued with the following possible answers, which all appeared simultaneously, prompting the start of the relentless ticking of the infamous big bad clock.

**A:** Geek  
**B:** Peak  
**C:** Weak  
**D:** Buttcheek

There was a short burst of laughter at the mention of the D answer. As it died down, the voice of God opposite me spoke, "That would be **C: **weak." The clock stopped when his choice lit up a bright amber glow.

"Right answer. You've got $100." The crowd around us applauded with the first hurdle clear. "You didn't even break a sweat, mate."

"Well, somebody once told me not to pick D on the first question," was his somewhat defensive remark.

"Good thing you listened to them," I chortled in a matter-of-fact tone. "Right, here's for $200... Which of these famous hedgehogs could most likely cut you down with a well-timed roundhouse kick? Fifteen seconds, here they come."

**A:** Zenith  
**B:** Shadow  
**C:** Sonic  
**D:** Silver

Hey, I was a possible answer! The wrong one, of course, but still.

The jackal wasted no time declaring his answer: "**B:** Shadow."

I stalled for a second with his answer locked in. He didn't consider that maybe I could roundhouse kick him myself?

"I know you couldn't," he said in a taunting manner, as if to answer my thought. "Either that, or Shadow would easily knock you down first."

"Get out of my studio now!"

In truth, I would have had to learn how to spin dash if I were to have a chance against anyone. Obviously I was neither the heroic nor the fighting type.

"Ok fine," I relented, "you've won $200. Trust me, I don't think you'd want Shadow to beat you down."

"If he kills me, I'll just bring him down with me," he shot quickly.

"Is that so?"

As if that were an unfinished thought, he continued, "He ain't nothing but a clown to me."

"Whoa..." I stuttered in disbelief. It had just dawned on me that he had done a short rap session, putting a spin on one of his earliest, most underrated songs. "Ok then. Let's just go for $300... Which of these boys' names is defined by Urban Dictionary as 'an overzealous maniacal fan of any celebrity'? Start the clock."

**A:** Kyle  
**B:** Eric  
**C:** Stan  
**D:** Kenny

"I better know this," Infinite started, nodding lightly. "So, I deal with crazy fans all the time, but when they try all means possible to get in contact with me, to the point where they risk their own lives..."

I was too fixated on the waning seconds of the big bad clock to feign any more attention to his monologue.

"The answer is Stan. C, Final."

"Oof." Intending to cut him off before he could say another word, I spoke as his answer was highlighted, "Cutting it kind of close there, but you're exactly right. You have $300."

As the chatter of the crowd around us died down, only then I let our conversation continue: "Would you say you have any stans?"

"Yeah, Shadow."

"No, I mean real-life stans."

"Oh." He should have known I wasn't talking about the storyline in one of his best-known songs. "No, I can't say I've ever actually run into a crazy in real life, thank Cronkite."

"Indeed. Well, you're doing great thus far, you've not used a lifeline yet. Question #4 is for $500, have a look."

He and I were now both staring at our respective screens which now displayed the following question: "If you want to serve your country with pride, you should avoid which of these military factions, as it is actually a deadly mercenary group?"

"Oh, boy..." was his only woeful interjection as he shook his head lightly.

"Start the clock, please."

**A:** Jackal Squad  
**B:** Eagle Squad  
**C:** Snake Squad  
**D:** Fox Squad

"I might be guessing here, but Jackal Squad is the only one of these I know has committed some pretty heinous crimes, which is actually kind of embarrassing to me."

Come on, jackal. Make your move already.

"Go with A, Final Answer. Why can't we be friends, you know?"

"You have $500." I pretended to wipe off the sweat that was getting soaked into my admittedly fake-looking mauve hairstyle. I figured I'd need to get back at him wasting all that time later.

"I know. It's kinda sad that the world is still full of... well, you know." I was probably better off not using that word on television. "Yes, why can't we be friends? Right, you've got $500. Question #5 is worth $1000. It would guarantee you some winnings if you answer correctly. You've still got three lifelines. Have a look."

I could feel my eyes popping out of my skull from glancing at this question. I found myself looking back and forth at Infinite and the screen before me; the jackal seemed to have his menacing gaze more locked in on me than ever, a cold, bloodthirsty stare that screamed, "Read it, punk!"

I took a deep breath. "What is the best way to trigger Infinite?" I didn't even bother to call for the clock to start running; the answers just seemed to know when to reveal themselves.

**A:** Call him weak  
**B:** Scrutinize his lyrics  
**C:** Roundhouse kick him  
**D:** Nothing; he's been through it all

By this point I was propping myself for a quick exit out of the studio.

"I would not want to be caught lying about myself..." the jackal mulled rather calmly, "but I would say I've been through it all. D, Final Answer."

Really? An answer that quick?

I took a few extra seconds to ponder the four choices. Certainly he would have easily lost his cool had all of these things happened to him? Especially the first one — for a jackal who spent half his life in the recording studio, I didn't perceive him to be the athletic type. Rather, I could picture him making a big scene, insisting that he was "not weak" at all, watched by millions live as it happened.

"You really think I'm this one-dimensional edgelord hellbent on destruction and distorted reality?" the jackal suddenly snapped. What the hell did he mean by distorted reality, anyway? "I know I've won fifteen Gramophone Awards and had ten of my LPs hit number one on the Musica Hit 100 and all those platinum records and so on and so forth, but does that automatically make me crazy enough to try to bend everyone to my will?"

My first response was about to be yes, of course. You would be foolish enough to change the correct answer just to keep him satisfied and less likely to &$#! kill you for a few seconds. Instead I hit him with that comeback that someone else had to be thinking.

"Why don't you Ask the Audience and see what they think?"

The befuzzled jackal across from me suddenly threw his hands halfway into the air, now glancing blankly towards me with a stupefied expression on his pathetic face. HA! Got him!

"You're right! You've just won $1000!"

And the cherry on top, his only reaction after realizing his defeat?

"Don't do that again, alright?"


End file.
